


Colours and Carriages

by Laurielove



Series: Melbourne Indulged [1]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Historical Inaccuracy, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Tension, Vicbourne, historical wishful thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/pseuds/Laurielove
Summary: First in a series of short one-shots of Vicbourne indulgence. They will vary in intensity, length and regularity of posting, but they're all aimed at assuaging our Vicbourne needs and giving Lord M a bit of happiness.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Victoria and her Prime Minister share a carriage together on a lengthy journey back to London. Third person limited POV (Melbourne).

They had gone to Reading for Her Majesty to open the new civic buildings; an occasion to impress her subjects, it was said. It had been an early start. The Queen had wished to pass the night _en route_ but Lehzen and her mother had objected, and on the rare occasions the two women colluded there was little even the Sovereign could do. And so they had set off at seven o’clock and would return to the palace not before ten at night. On the way out they had travelled separately, he with the Lord Chancellor, she with the Lord Chancellor’s wife, but those two had then stayed on with her mother, and so the Queen found herself travelling back to London alone in a carriage with her Prime Minister.

The day itself had passed easily enough. Lord Melbourne was impressed with her. She had given a short speech which he had advised on but not written. Her public demeanour was far more confident now than it had been when she had first ascended to the throne. Her voice was clearer, her head held high. He was proud of her, and a little proud of himself. He noted her glances his way and how she settled herself calmly when he smiled in encouragement.

The public had cheered and waved and she had reciprocated with a natural warmth and charm.

And now they had the long journey back over the ragged roads of Berkshire. The carriage continued its jolting progression through the ever dimming countryside. Melbourne stared from the window at the fading colours of autumn. November crept in relentlessly and the burnished golds and reds which had nourished him until now would soon be gone. It caught his heart. Another winter.

‘What are you thinking, Lord M?’ came the ripple of a voice next to him. The cold which had started to creep in was pushed back.

‘I was thinking about colour, Ma’am.’

‘What a curious thing.’ She paused slightly and he could feel her looking at him but he resolutely remained staring outside. ‘But then, you are a curious thing.’

At this, he turned to her and a smirk tugged at his mouth. ‘You think me curious, Ma’am?’

She smiled back. It made her eyes shine. ‘I do.’

‘In what way, curious?’

‘Because you say one thing but its meaning is hidden under layer upon layer of control and censorship.’

He started a little. Could she see this so clearly? He moved his eyes from her, put out by her assertion. She noticed this too as a ribbon of a laugh rose from her which tickled his mind and unsettled him further. ‘You know this is so, Lord M.’ He did, but he was unnerved that she had noticed it so readily, and not unimpressed.

The carriage they were travelling in was cramped and her arm had been resting lightly along his from the start. Now she leaned further into him, and he felt the increased pressure of her firm body against him. Instead of disturbing him, it seemed to send a warmth seeping directly into his blood, to flow around him and soothe.

He smirked again. ‘Perhaps. But where would be the fun in being entirely frank? I aim to inform and advise, Ma’am, but not patronise. It is quite right that you should work a little to ascertain my meaning.’

She laughed and leaned into him again, whether by design or accident, he was not sure, but he liked it nonetheless. He turned to look from the window once more and concentrated on slowing his breathing which he noticed had become rather laboured. But she remained there, pressed against him. She could have straightened herself; she did not.

‘When you say you think of colour … you mean presumably the colours of the landscape?’ Victoria asked.

‘Yes. The colours of autumn. They have been particularly vivid this year.’

‘I know. We have enjoyed our rides out in the gardens particularly of late, have we not?’

‘Yes.’ He looked at her with a slight teasing grin. ‘Although I had hoped you enjoyed our rides out for my wit and conversation, Ma’am.’

She laughed again. ‘Indeed, and for that I am most grateful. Can you imagine me ever having to ride out with Peel? I would sooner take Mr Penge for conversation!’

‘So would I, Ma’am.’

‘Over me, Lord M? I am affronted!’

‘Over Robert Peel, Ma’am.’

‘So not over me?’

‘Never over you, Ma’am. I cannot imagine enjoying riding out with anyone so much as you.’

He tried it in jest, but as soon as the words left his mouth he heard them as he really meant them: truthfully, honestly, entirely openly.

‘Really?’ She stared at him, her eyes wide in revelation.

He dropped his head. ‘You are good company, Ma’am.’

There was a beat of silence and then: ‘We are good friends, are we not, Lord M?’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

He kept his head firmly turned to the outside, but still he was acutely aware of the slight, warm body leaning against him with no prevarication or fear.

‘They are fading.’

‘What, Ma’am?’

‘The colours of autumn.’

‘They are … as they must.’

‘And it troubles you?’

He took a deep breath before his words fell out. ‘I suppose it does. I do not like winter. I do not like the cold.’ At this he guarded against a shiver.

‘I like the cold,’ she asserted. ‘It invigorates me.’

He wrinkled his face a little. ‘It makes my nose red, a most unflattering sight,’ he teased, needing to break the growing bubble of solemnity.

She laughed again. If he could make her laugh, he would keep the cold at bay. ‘Oh, Lord M, there is little that could make the sight of you unflattering!’

He turned to her at the compliment, and she was staring at him, her eyes dancing, as if she truly meant it. He allowed himself a moment of arrogant pride and indulged her with a deepened smirk which he fully knew was flirtatious. Even in the darkness of the carriage he saw her blush. But he did not turn his gaze away. The moment was too easy, too delicious not to taste it and let it linger on his senses. He gave up trying to steady his breathing.

‘You are too kind, Ma’am,’ he said, and his voice came lower than he had anticipated, but he was pleased with it nonetheless, for it intensified the moment rather than dissipated it, which had at first been his intention.

‘I am honest,’ she murmured and her eyes remained fixed into his and now glowed with a light beyond the frivolous giggles of earlier. He knew exactly what stared back at him, because he felt it too so profoundly he doubted everything he had previously constructed in his life.

Desire. Here, now. They were alone, in dark anonymity. They had only each other. It would be so easy and it would feel so good and be the most perfect thing he had done. She wanted it, he believed. He wanted it, he knew.

Her head was turned to his, her lips slightly parted as if anticipating his kiss.

Kiss. It was the next thing. They had followed a natural progression, had they not? Understanding, acceptance, communion, companionship … To kiss her … that is what happened; it was the order of things. For a moment, he could tell himself that and believe it. How perfect she was. How exquisite and beautiful and his. Should he not reward her faith in him? And reward his faith in her?

And yet …

His breath, held for so long, shuddered within him, as if alerting him to his mortality. Melbourne tore his head around to stare from the window again. He heard her suck in and felt the perfect pressure of her body’s weight along his lightening as she sat up. The cold constricted his heart again.

They continued in silence for some time, feeling the shift, knowing the change. And yet even then it was not awkward yet contented, a strange harmony of the unspoken. Never had he been so happy and yet so miserable.

There was still a long way to go. He dared not look back at her, but then, as the carriage rumbled on, he felt it again, her body’s length resting along his. He could have shifted, moved away from her, but he did not.

And, then, after miles of rattling and rocking, something on his shoulder: her head. He dared not move for fear he would disturb her and lose it, but slowly, carefully, he glanced down. Her eyes were closed, the lashes dusting her cheeks. Her lips were parted and she was drawing in slow, deep breaths. She had fallen asleep on him.

Her humanity struck him first of all. The pertness of her nose, the lines on her lips, no different from the seamstresses and fishwives and charwomen that had lined the streets earlier. She was flesh and bone like any other woman. But Melbourne knew that already. He, more than anyone, knew the human beyond the royal, and he derived a sudden arrogant satisfaction from it. The intimacy of the moment struck him forcefully. Did he not deserve this?

His hand moved, unbidden almost, to touch her. He wanted to so much he had forgotten to breathe. He wanted to feel how soft her skin was, to let the feel of her seep into him for a moment, but he stopped himself and instead simply stared down and gloried in the weight of her head on his shoulder, that head full of thoughts and dreams which enthralled and frustrated him equally. He let his hand drop and left her to rest on him, as was right. And the sadness that had tainted his happiness earlier evaporated.

They continued into the night and he had no wish for the journey to end. Here, enclosed, there was no need to imagine it ever would. But then the carriage went over a pot hole and jolted badly. But instead of moving from him, she gave a little start of surprise but did not awaken. Instead, she turned into him and unconsciously – or not, dare he think? – placed her arm around his waist. He sucked in a breath and his innate sense of propriety made him take hold of her hand to draw it off him, but, in her sleep-deluded mind, she pulled her hand from his grasp only to replace it back around his waist more firmly, each finger warm, firm, clinging as she would to Dash.

If he woke her now it would alarm her, make things worse, lead to confusion and unhappiness … he thought. And so he exhaled slowly and left her hand there, clasped to him, her arm resting over him.

Time passed, and Melbourne could not remember such intense satisfaction except for the moment he had first held his new born son in his arms. He had stared and stared, as if the infant would disappear if he so much as blinked. It was like that now. He feared drawing in breath in case she stirred.

But then, after what seemed an age but was not nearly long enough, Victoria drew in a breath and moved. Her hand remained there and her head still rested on him, but she had awoken. But instead of stirring swiftly in embarrassment, she stayed there and her hand tightened around his waist.

‘Are we not yet there?’ she asked softly.

‘Nearly, but not yet.’

There was no shame, no hesitation. She had no need to move from him and he would not compel her. Why should he wish that contentment away?

And she turned her head to look up at him and they were a mere breath away and she was the most beautiful thing.

Her hand moved, but instead of bringing it off him, she drew it over him so that it slid inside his coat and over his waistcoat. With deliberate, staggering sensuality she moved her hand up his chest, fingers splayed, as if to feel the most of him. And she brought it up to his face, thumb and forefinger over his cheekbones, the other slighter fingers caressing his neck. And there was hope and intent in her eyes.

Such a wash of intoxicating need came over him that he thought it would drown him. Her mouth was open and he saw her tongue dart to moisten her lips. And that was all.

With the pull of her hand aiding him, he brought his head down and met her lips with his own. She tasted of summer, cherry red and ripe, and he felt his eyes burn, but she moved her mouth under him and he was found again.

They drew apart, as if remembering to be surprised, but her sweet face did not turn away and remained there for him. And she smiled, softly, slightly, and her hand curled further around his head, tangling in his hair and pulling him down to her again.

He kissed her firmer now, deeper, like the lover he longed to be, and she met and matched him. His own hands rose to clasp her head, holding her to kiss with increasing passion, breathing through her, with her, moving her lips with his, absorbing all that wonder which had been so close yet so far from him.

She opened her mouth and he let her draw breath and he kissed her face, gentler now, wanting only to know her skin, her scent, her being. She let out a sighed laugh, released with delight and what he felt was relief.

And then the carriage slowed and stopped and the coachman was dismounting. Her eyes flared with alarm and he knew his own mirrored her alarm. She pulled back suddenly and sat upright, smoothing her skirts down and staring straight ahead. He swallowed hard, blinking as if to awaken from a dream. The driver appeared the next moment and opened the door for him.

He stepped out and turned, barely daring to hold his hand out to help her from the carriage, but when she placed those little fingers in his, fingers that only a moment before had run sensuously through his hair with the purpose of a long-time lover, he met her eyes. She was flushed, he could see that even in the moonlight, but it gave her such beauty that his soul would feed on it. She smiled, a slight, knowing smile which he returned. She felt her hand slip reluctantly from his as they walked towards the palace, and he took his usual place one step behind her, hands clasped.

They were met in the corridors by Lehzen. ‘It is late, your Majesty. I have a small supper prepared. I regret Lord Melbourne will be unable to dine tonight.’ The housekeeper gave him a look of such pursed froideur that he almost laughed.

‘Oh, why, that is a shame. Lord M, whatever shall you eat?’ Victoria turned to him, her eyebrows working rapidly between annoyance, pleasured memory and query.

He drew his lips together and with the merest tilt of his head said, ‘I shall find something, Ma’am, I’m sure of it. In any case … I do not feel particularly hungry. Such a busy day, after all.’

‘Indeed,’ she gave him a perfectly secret smile then turned to the Baroness. ‘Lehzen, only a small supper. I shall take it in my chamber. Will you instruct them now, please?’

‘Very well, Your Majesty.’ Lehzen, after another disdainful look at the Prime Minister, turned for the kitchens.

Victoria turned back to Melbourne and took a step forward. There was staff coming and going and no reason why he should stay any longer, they both knew it.

‘Thank you, Lord M, for a most satisfying day.’

His mouth lifted at the corners and he glanced down at her lips which were still flushed from his kiss. She was growing bold in her manipulation and he found he did not mind at all. Perhaps he would in the morning, but now, he revelled in it. If he could, he would stand and indulge in this flirtation all night.

‘It was, was it not, Ma’am? Satisfying, that is?’

‘And the carriage ride went far more rapidly than I ever recall before.’

‘Carriage ride, Ma’am? I barely noticed it.’

‘Perhaps you were distracted.’

‘Perhaps I was.’

She deepened her smile and then held her gloved hand out for him. ‘Goodbye, Lord M. Until tomorrow.’

He bent and kissed the top of her hand, pressing his lips in hard, needing to feel the warm firmness of flesh and bone on him again. Then he stood and returned her smile. ‘Goodbye, Your Majesty. As you say … until tomorrow.’

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Any thoughts or comments gratefully received. x


End file.
